“Everything okay here?” My manager cuts in, eyes scanning like dollar signs are walking out the door.
Before I can even get a word out, Samantha leans back, fake-smiling all innocent. “Oh, we’re fine. Just catching up,” she says, that slight edge of sarcasm coating every word. “You know—girl talk. Reminiscing about old times.”
“Catching up huh?” My manager’s gaze slices between us.“Because it sounded like you were raising your voice at a customer, Jainey.”
Heat climbs my spine. “She’s not a fucking customer. She came here to start shit. That’s it—that’s all.”
Samantha tilts her head, enjoying the show. “See? Always so defensive. Calm down—it’s not that deep.”
Ignoring her, I catch my managers’s face—the same exact look as last time. The same one she gave me when my ex’s best friend stalked me here and somehowIended up getting blamed. Like I’m the one inviting this drama in.
I see it forming on her tongue, the words she’s secretly been dying to spit out: you’re fired.But I beat her to it.
I rip off my apron, and slam it onto the counter so hard it bounces. “Don’t even fucking say it, because I quit. I’ve been done with this hellhole for a long time. And I’ll be damned if I let you fire me like I’m fucking disposable—like I haven’t worked my ass off for you for three miserable years. Fuck this job—and everyone in it.”
A couple of customers glance away, pretending they’re not eavesdropping, but their silence gives them away.Samantha’s smug little grin widens, clearly satisfied, like she’s been waiting for me to snap just so she can pretend she accomplished something.
My mom tried to crush me hundreds of times, way worse than this bitch ever could try—and I’m still standing.
If she couldn’t break me, no one can.
In the back, I hook my bag over my shoulder, not bothering to look at a single person back here. It’s not like any of them are my real friends anyway—just coworkers who’d step over my body if it means they can clock out five minutes earlier.
The strap catches on my arm, snagging like even my bag wants one last piece of this place, but I shove it off. My chest feels heavy—not with regret, but with the bitter relief of finally being done with pretending to care.
I head straight through the kitchen, taking the long, forbidden route like it’s my own damn runway. We’re not supposed to walk through here in regular clothes, but I’m already halfway out the door mentally, and what is she going to do—write me up after I just quit?
Marco glances up but quickly looking away like he doesn’t want to get caught being friends with someone like me.
Then I push through the door. The bell gives a weak chime… then another… trailing behind me like a sad little goodbye from a place that never liked my anyway.
Outside, the air hits colder than I expected. I stand frozen, just breathing and thinking.
No job.
No plan.
No clue what comes next.
And somehow, it still smells like freedom. Maybe I should be panicking—but I’m not.
There’s a strange calm in knowing I walked out on my own terms. I can lose everything else, but I’ll never let anyone strip me of my pride.
Not my mom.
Not Samantha.
Not anyone.
I wrap my arms around myself, watching my breath fog in the air like I’m seeing my old life leave my body and settle into something new.
The world feels weirdly quiet—like even the cars driving past know something in me finally snapped back into place. Like the universe is taking a breath with me.
My phone buzzes in my bag, probably some notification I don’t want to deal with, so I ignore it. For once I don’t belong to anyone’s expectations or emergencies.
I’m not someone’s worker. I’m just… me.
And standing here in the cold with nothing to fall back on, I realize something I’ve never let myself believe—I’ve survived worse for less.
